


Someone Help (Don't Worry About) Me

by ColorWithMarker



Series: Fallen Son [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Death Threats, Gen, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 13:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4608684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorWithMarker/pseuds/ColorWithMarker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sharon forgets that she lives in a world where people have trouble staying dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someone Help (Don't Worry About) Me

Sharon had sworn when she moved to the CIA that she was going to settle and stay put. No more relocating time and time again. No more flying overseas on a whim for a mission she knows two words about. She was going to live a quiet, normal life at the desk job she was given and pray that things would settle down.

Then Tony calls and says that she’s to work for him. No, not at Stark Industries, like Maria Hill did before being appointed Director of SHIELD a few months ago. At SHIELD, now that Maria has been forced to step down and have Tony take her place. She almost declines, but after one day of being out on the town and being reminded left and right about Steve, she calls Tony and accepts the offer. He says he’ll come out the next morning to get her.

She gets a call from Natasha thirty minutes after talking to Tony. She smiles at her best friend’s name on the screen before answering. “I guess you’ve heard?” she asks.

“ _Of course I have. I was in the room when you two talked,_ ” Natasha replies. “ _You’re being wasted at the CIA. SHIELD is where you belong. It’s been weird without having one of my best friends here._ ”

Sharon knows that Natasha misses Clint more than she misses Sharon. And she knows not to bring him up. “Is there anyone else I know being invited?” she asks.

“ _Invited to what?_ ”

“Please, Nat. I know you and Tony too well. There’s something deeper going on, isn’t there?”

“ _I can’t tell you,_ ” Natasha says. “ _I promise it’s something you’ll want to be involved with… and we’re having trouble with recruitment right now._ ”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure they’ll come around.” Sharon doesn’t believe that, and she knows Natasha doesn’t believe that either. She hopes they’ll come around. “I have to pack my things. It looks like I’ll be back to the dorm life.”

“ _Just be glad you won’t have to worry about creeps trying to look into your window. I already disabled the cameras that some of the newer recruits installed. I put them in the guys’ showers just to mess with them._ ”

Sharon smiles and rolls her eyes. Oh, Nat. “I have to go pack my things. Tony’s coming to get me very early tomorrow,” she says. “See you around.”

“ _Bye, Share._ ” Sharon hangs up and goes into her music app. She shuffles her songs and winds up with Pink Floyd’s _Wish You Were Here_. She grimaces and changes it to the next song. Sixpence None the Richer’s _Kiss Me._ A third try. _Falling Slowly_ from _Once_. Sharon stops the music and throws her phone on the couch. Fuck it. She doesn’t need depressing music or love songs right now.

Sharon takes out her two suitcases and starts filling them with her clothes. She starts out folding them one-by-one, then ends up shoving them in there. The clothes she doesn’t want and other belongings will be given to her neighbors. The same with food in the fridge she can’t bring with her. She knows one of the families on the first floor has been going through financial troubles and could use the extra clothes and food. She finishes packing clothes and moves on to putting personal belongings in a box. Picture frames and albums. The few books she hasn’t donated to the local library. Souvenirs from vacations and missions. One of two guns (the other is on her person, and has been ever since… well, you know) and her box of ammunition. Her calendar. Her alarm clock. Some makeup for whenever anything formal comes up (between missions and going out with Tony, she never knows when she’ll need it). DVDs and CDs. Her laptop. Her phone and laptop chargers. A carefully wrapped coffee mug that was a gag gift from her cousin.

Sharon looks at her apartment furniture and hopes whoever gets the place after her keeps them. They’re not too worn and very comfortable.

Sharon goes downstairs with two bags filled with food and clothes and gives them away to the family downstairs. They’re so grateful that the mother cries and the father insists she stays for dinner. Sharon wants to decline, but they’re very nice people, and there’s a slim to none chance she’ll ever see them after today. She stays for a dinner of lasagna and an after-dinner recital as their youngest daughter plays the songs she’s learning for an upcoming piano recital. When she finishes her three pieces, Sharon claps and praises the girl, who smiles grandly at the compliment.

Sharon remembers as she goes back upstairs how much she hates meeting her neighbors. Every time she does, she ends up leaving behind friends. Hell, she had a hard time befriending SHIELD agents, afraid that when she finally grew close enough, they’d end up being kidnapped or killed. It’s why Natasha is her only friend at SHIELD, and that friendship could be torn at any second with what’s been going on lately.

Sharon bids the family farewell and promises to send them a postcard from Arizona (where she says she’ll be staying, because they can’t know where the new SHIELD base is without any risks, and she really likes this family). She gets into the elevator, which already has the nice elderly lady from the floor below her.

“Oh, hello, Kate!” the woman greets her cheerfully.

“Hello, Ms. Lorraine!” Sharon replies with the same pep. “How are you tonight?”

“I’m doing well. I just sent a letter to my granddaughter in New York! Did I tell you about her, the young waitress?”

“Yes, Ms. Lorraine, you have. I hope to meet her one day.”

“I hope you do, too! Beth is such a lovely young woman!” Sharon taps her foot as the elevator stops on the fourth floor. The man waiting there insists the ladies go up and that he’ll take the stairs down. Ms. Lorraine taps Sharon’s shoulder and says, “Before I forget, your cousin came by earlier looking for you.”

“My cousin?” Sharon asks. Tony is supposed to be in New York, not here. Is he here early? Or maybe it’s Natasha. “Which cousin?”

“He said his name was Anthony. I offered to wait with him, but he had his own key,” Ms. Lorraine says. The elevator stops and opens, and Ms. Lorraine steps out. “Good night, darling!”

“Good night, Ms. Lorraine!” Once the elevator door shuts again, Sharon reaches behind her and places a hand on her gun. Tony doesn’t have a key to her place.

Sharon steps into her hall and points the gun at the empty air. This is the scenario she wishes never happens to her. She can’t stalk her door without arousing suspicion from her neighbors and dragging them into this. If she enters her apartment, anyone can be in there, friend or foe. Calling SHIELD or the CIA takes too long. The police take even longer, or worse, they’re working with whoever is going for her. The most terrifying part is not knowing who is in her home. It can actually be Tony. It can be Nick Fury. It can be a random villain, like Ulysses Klaus, or one she knows from past missions, like a HYDRA agent. They’re still out there, and some are braver than others.

Sharon decides to open the door without it creaking (thankfully, she just fixed it last month) and hope not to disturb whoever is inside. Her gun is still aiming at the open space. None of the lights are on, so she can see a sliver of carpet from the outside lights reflecting in. She knows her space enough to maneuver around furniture. Whoever this is has yet to make a sound.

Then there is a gun pressing against her neck, and a hand squeezing hard on her shoulder. “Drop the gun, agent,” a raspy voice orders. Sharon puts her hands up but doesn’t let go of her gun. “I said drop the weapon, Agent Thirteen!”

Knowing her means this person is related to SHIELD. And if they’re hostile, chances are they’re SHIELD and HYDRA, and possibly STRIKE, too. Her odds aren’t too bright. Sharon places her gun on the nearby chair and puts her hand back up. She debates fighting the man with a gun to her head. There’s a chance she’ll win, but the odds aren’t in her favor. She’ll obey the gunman… for now.

She fights a gasp as a cold handcuff is placed around her left wrist. “Put both your hands behind your back,” the gunman says. She hears the hammer click. “And don’t get cute about it, or else my finger might slip.” Sharon obeys and finds herself in a trickier situation. But this isn’t the first time she’s taken on an enemy while cuffed. There are seven missions where she beat several people with her hands restrained behind her. This is no different. It’s better, even, since she knows her playing field. “Now sit down on the chair by the kitchen table.” Sharon lets herself be pushed over to her kitchen, and is forced to sit in the chair, while the gunman forces her arms around the back of the chair it’s between her back and her hands.

Then there’s a punch to her neck, right in the middle, and Sharon is coughing and gagging. She struggles to regain her breath as her attacker turns on the kitchen light.

“I’m sorry to have to do that to you, Agent Carter, but I can’t risk you getting someone’s attention. I wouldn’t want to have to kill one of your lovely neighbors.” A wrinkly finger comes from behind and rubs against Sharon’s bottom lip. “I hope you understand.”

Sharon wants to yell, but she isn’t sure she can. So she settles for biting the finger. The man screams and pulls his finger free. His hand moves to her neck and squeezes over where he hit her earlier. Sharon lets out a few strangled gasps, but otherwise stays quiet. She doesn’t want him to have the satisfaction of hearing her struggle.

“You know, Agent, I have to give it to you. You Avengers and SHIELD agents are hard nuts to crack. I thought for sure that I would have gotten more than one of you by now.” The gunman grabs her face and forces it up. Sharon’s eyes widen as she looks into the burnt face of Brock Rumlow. “But if I can only get the big kahuna himself, then I can die a happy man.”

Sharon tries to speak, but there’s only a strained sound. She remembers thinking back at the hospital that only one man wanted to kill Steve so badly, and that it was impossible because that man was _dead_. He’s here now, and he’s not dead like Wanda’s brother is dead. He’s dead like Agent Coulson had been dead. And this is the second time this bastard has escaped death’s loose clutch.

“Miss me, agent?” Rumlow asks. He lets go of Sharon’s face and moves to sit on the chair opposite her. His gun is put down on the table, the hammer still down. It was pointed at her. He could shoot her whenever he wanted. “I know I’ve missed you and that pretty mouth of yours.”

Sharon spits in his direction. The glob makes it halfway across the table. Rumlow laughs at her failed attempt.

“Yeah, I’d spit in my face too,” he laughs. He leans forward. “It turns me on. Wanna try again.” Sharon keeps her mouth shut and settles for glaring. There’s not much she can do to provoke him. He grimaces and plays with his gun, holding eye contact with her as he does. “I see you packed your things. Going someplace special, agent? Were you planning on not telling me where? I’d hate for us to part ways without getting a goodbye. How do you wanna say it to me? With your mouth?” He picks up the gun and points it at Sharon’s mouth. “I know a few things you could do with those lovely lips.”

Sharon refuses to budge. She refuses to give him any sort of sickening satisfaction that he so desperately wants from her.

“Do you think I’m going to kill you, agent?” Rumlow asks. He chuckles. “I don’t want to kill you. Dead bodies aren’t as fun as live ones, if you know what I mean.” He sits back and waves his gun in a few circles. “Doesn’t mean I won’t eventually kill you. But I always save the best for last. I think I’ll get Rogers’ precious little friends before you. Romanov first, for sure. Then Wilson. Then Stark. One by one, I’ll get all you SHIELD agents and Avengers. Then you know who’s going last?” Wilson cocks his head at Sharon. “Mister Barnes.” He leans back in the chair and laughs. “I think I’ll crush his arms first. Both of them. Then I’ll cut off each toe, one by one, as he’s strapped down and helpless. I’ll make him watch videos of his friends being killed as I do it, too. Rogers will be on the biggest screen I can get my hands on. And then, just for fun, I’ll gouge out one of his eyes and force him to eat it.” Rumlow drops the gun back on the table, the hammer haven fallen already, and looks Sharon dead in the eye. “Then I’ll shoot him in his pretty little face and watch his brains splatter all over the wall.”

Sharon utters one word to him: “Animal.”

“Hey, don’t look at me. I’m not the one who started this war. Just the finishing move.” Rumlow tucks the gun away, and Sharon knows they’re not done yet. He stands and walks behind her. His footsteps are too light for her to know where exactly he is. “I think my message is pretty clear. You be a good little agent and deliver it to Fury or Hill or whoever is running the show now. It’s Stark, right?” Sharon’s eyes widen. So Rumlow is in the know after all.

Suddenly, her largest kitchen knife is plunged into her right thigh. She grits her teeth and fights to not howl in pain. “Just part of the message,” Rumlow says from behind. He leans in and whispers in her ear, “I’m tired of playing these games with you heroes.”

For the next thirteen hours, Sharon goes in and out of consciousness. The bleeding stops after forty minutes, and the pain is dulled to numbness by the sixth. She assumes Rumlow already took the chance to leave. By sunrise, Sharon feels lightheaded. Her right leg is falling asleep, but moving it is nowhere near an option. She can’t even move her left leg without there being pain. She tries getting off her handcuffs. They’re too tight around her wrists, and the angle her arms are in don’t help. She just has to wait for Tony and Natasha.

At nine-sixteen, there’s a knock on the door. Sharon’s throat is too dry for her to call out, and the door opens ten seconds later. She hears Tony swear and Natasha pull out her gun.

Tony gives her water before anything else, and she drinks an entire bottle of it without pausing. “Rumlow… killed Steve,” she says, “and we’re… next.”


End file.
